


Things I Knew When I Was Young

by sparkycap



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkycap/pseuds/sparkycap
Summary: There are things Nix is good at - sex, drinking, disappointing his father. Talking about his feelings is not one of those things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wasn't supposed to write this instead of the fifteen other things I should be working on, and it was not supposed to turn out this feelings-heavy, but unfortunately since both happened I'm subjecting you all to it. Enjoy.

They’re barely drunk.

Nix has more practice holding his liquor than any seventeen year old reasonably should, and Ron is a perpetual lightweight that has learned to take it slow. Tonight Nix is matching him, not exactly drink for drink but for level of drunkenness, because neither of them want to be too gone to enjoy this.

They’d also rather not get caught.

Well, Ron thinks so, anyway. There probably is some deeper reason Nix’s idea of a good time is breaking into his father’s office and drinking his whiskey—some therapists might call it a cry for attention. But for his part, Ron is looking for two things: the adrenaline rush of some good old B&E, and possibly getting fucked over Stanhope’s sturdy oak desk.

So they’re tipsy, and Nix has finally quit asking where Ron learned to pick a lock. He gets them into the building, and Nix disables the security, and he presses Nix into the wall by the alarm to kiss him over and over.

“Hey, all right,” Nix says, slowing him down with a hand on either side of his face. “We’ve got time.”

“That doesn’t mean we need to take it,” Ron says.

Nix laughs, sweeping his thumbs over Ron’s cheekbones and kissing him deeply, then pulling back and nipping at Ron’s bottom lip when he tries to follow. “Don’t you want to have some fun?”

Ron mouths along Nix’s jaw, biting at the underside and rubbing against him until Nix stops him with a tight grip on his hips. “This is fun,” Ron says.

“Later,” Nix promises. He nudges Ron to the side and starts to walk off, and then he stops when he notices Ron isn’t following. Instead Ron is staring around, curious, trying to figure out the best direction to go in. Nix rolls his eyes and grabs him by the hand to tug him along. “You’re still coming with me.”

“Who put you in charge?” Ron grumbles, but he laces his fingers with Nix’s and follows, eyes on their joined hands. They don’t do this often. Nix never protests when Ron flops on top of him whenever they’re alone, and he doesn’t say a word against Ron’s almost unconscious habit of leaning into his side whenever they’re next to each other, but it’s not like they’re a couple. They fuck, and they kiss a slightly inappropriate amount for semi-platonic friends, but they don’t do this.

It makes Ron follow him, because it’s easy enough to pretend he’s not craving this sort of thing when he’s not getting it, but it’s hard to turn it down when it’s offered so freely.

Nix squeezes his hand and tugs him closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek, completely missing Ron’s surprised look as he turns to face forward again. He just meanders down the hall, flipping on lights as he goes, musing about how they could use some music. Then he turns, walking backward and grabbing Ron’s other hand to pull him close. “Know what I’m thinking about?”

Ron shakes his head, eyes locked with Nix’s. Nix is a miserable bastard half the time, but when he wants to be he’s downright magnetic. Ron darts forward to catch his lips in a kiss, and Nix drags him in with a hand at his waist. Even the way he kisses has an edge of amusement, like he knows something Ron doesn’t.

It drives Ron a little insane.

“I hope you’re about to say fucking in your dad’s office,” Ron says.

“And that’s why I keep you around,” Nix says, satisfied. For a moment Ron assumes he means the sex, but Nix jostles him a little and finishes, “You get me.”

“You say that like it’s hard,” Ron quips.

“I’m an enigma,” Nix says.

“You’re full of shit,” Ron says.

“That’s why you love me,” Nix reminds him.

Ron shrugs. “If you say so.”

Nix adopts a devastated expression, swaying them slowly backwards until they’re doing a halfhearted quickstep down the hall towards Stanhope’s office. “Are you saying you don’t?”

“I’m saying you’re a ridiculous human being,” Ron tells him.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” Nix says.

“Shut up,” Ron mutters. He bites Nix’s mouth, kissing him hard, and Nix just laughs.

“Come on,” he coaxes. He untangles their fingers to get a hand on Ron’s face, stopping them in the doorway of the office to press Ron up against it, angling his head with the hand on his cheek so Nix can kiss down his neck, sucking a mark at the base until Ron has to bite back a moan. Nix grins. “Come on, then.”

Ron thumps his head back against the doorjamb, groaning. “What?”

“Tell me you love me,” Nix insists.

“When did you get so needy?” Ron asks, unimpressed.

Nix huffs, backing away and walking into the office. “And you call yourself my best friend.”

“I have never once called myself that,” Ron says.

“Well, that’s even worse,” Nix says.

There’s an old-fashioned record player in the corner of the room, and Nix paces over to it. Ron watches out of the corner of his eye, still in the doorway with his head tipped back. Nix puts on something quiet and jazzy, and then spins around to hold his hand out to Ron.

“What are you doing,” Ron says flatly.

“Dance with me,” Nix says.

Ron’s eyes flick over to the counter. “You know there’s whiskey over there, right?”

“We’ll get to that,” Nix says, gesturing more insistently with his hand. “Let me finally put all those dance lessons to good use.”

“You haven’t yet?” Ron asks, relenting, stepping closer and letting Nix pull him into position.

“Well, my mother said I took them for formal occasions, but you know I avoid those at all costs. My father said he was sure it’d come in handy one day, and that it would shut my mother up. Now my grandfather, he’s the one who told me the truth. He said if all else failed, dancing would always help me get laid,” Nix says, leading him across the floor. He steals a kiss as they go, mutters, “How am I doing?”

“I don’t know,” Ron says, feigning obliviousness. “Did your mother shut up?”

Nix sighs long-sufferingly. “Never, but that’s beside the point.”

Ron lets himself smile a little. “When have you ever had to work to get me into bed?”

“True, you are a sure thing,” Nix muses. He tosses a glance behind him and shrugs. “Then again, there’s no bed here.”

“Yeah,” Ron agrees. Something in his voice must give away how much he likes that thought, because Nix pulls him to a stop.

“All right,” Nix says. He steps away, over to the counter, and pours himself a drink. “You want?” he offers.

“No,” Ron says.

Nix shrugs, sloshing in some extra. “You can have some of mine.”

Ron takes him up on it, meeting him by the desk and wrapping his fingers around Nix’s on the glass, pulling it to his lips. “Is it later yet?”

“I suppose,” Nix says, carrying his glass around the desk and flopping into the big leather chair, giving it an experimental spin. Then he drops his toe against the floor to stop it, legs spreading casually, and Ron bites his lip. Nix grins. “I know that look.”

“Shut up,” Ron says again.

“Does that mean you don’t want it?” Nix asks.

Ron wavers, trying to decide whether his desire for Nix’s cock in his mouth is worth giving in to that smug tone of voice.

Of course, his voice is not exactly unattractive.

“Gonna let me?” Ron asks.

“Sure. Just one thing.”

“What?”

Nix beckons him over, tugging him down by the collar for a messy kiss. “Say it.”

Ron frowns. “Say what?”

Nix pushes him to his knees with both hands on his shoulders, and Ron goes willingly, but when his hands go to Nix’s belt, Nix stops him. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’re kidding,” Ron says flatly.

“It’s important you learn how to express your feelings,” Nix says.

Ron jerks his hands out from under Nix’s and gathers Nix’s wrists, pinning them to his stomach while he works at Nix’s pants one handed. Nix just drops his head back and chuckles. “Anger is a feeling,” Ron says, “And I’m very familiar with expressing that.”

“This is why people are afraid of you,” Nix says.

“Yes, whereas you go around telling everyone you love them, right?” Ron says.

“Am I really just _everyone_ to you?” Nix asks.

“I don’t suck everyone’s cock on a weekly basis,” Ron says. Then he shoots Nix a glare. “Don’t make a joke about that.”

“Oh, I’d never,” Nix says, straight-faced but for the amusement in his eyes.

Except then Ron unzips Nix’s slacks, and Nix stops him from going down with his hands on Ron’s face. Ron bites back a whine, closing his eyes. “Nix, please.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Nix says, stroking his hand down Ron’s cheek. “You can have whatever you want, just—"

“I love you,” Ron interrupts. He keeps his forehead pressed to Nix’s stomach, hands clenched tight around his thighs, and it’s so much easier to say without looking at him. “You know I love you, Nixon, get the fuck on with it.”

“There it is,” Nix says, pushing an affectionate hand back through Ron’s hair. “Go on, then.”

And Ron had never expected Nix to say it back, but he thinks ruefully that it might have been nice.

He fumbles Nix’s underwear down, Nix lifting his hips to help, and nudges further in between his legs. Nix settles in with a sigh, leaning back into the chair, whiskey in hand, and petting lazily through Ron’s hair.

They’ve done this what seems like a hundred times. Ron works him with his lips and his tongue until Nix’s hand is clenching in his hair, urging him to get on with it. That only lasts until Ron is taking him into his mouth and sliding down, hand around the base of Nix’s cock not because he can’t reach it with his mouth but because Nix likes him to take it slow. Once they’re here, anyway. Nix keeps a hand around the back of Ron’s head and keeps him moving nice and languid. Sometimes Ron minds; this time he doesn’t.

This time Ron could stay like this forever, Nix’s hand stroking his face and the warm weight of him on his tongue, half under Stanhope’s desk with Nix in the chair above him drinking his whiskey.

They’ve done this so many times Ron can hardly remember any between now and the first, but it never gets old. It only gets better.

“Here,” Nix says, tipping Ron’s face up. Ron shoots an irritated look up at him, but he pulls off, licking his lips free of spit and come to accept the glass pressed against his parted mouth. The whiskey only burns a little going down, a side effect or a consequence or a benefit, he’s not sure which, of Nix’s friendship.

Ron tips his face up further, and Nix obliges him with a kiss. Nix goes to pull the glass away, but Ron stills his hand. “Wait.”

He holds a swallow of whiskey on his tongue, and then bends to take Nix back into his mouth. Nix lets out a harsh breath at the sensation. So quietly Ron isn’t sure he even heard right, Nix says, “Christ, you’re something.”

It’s not love, but he’ll take it.

It spurs him to work Nix down this throat properly, to set his hands flat against loose splayed thighs and swallow around him, whiskey sliding down his throat cooler and thinner than his come will be.

Nix cups his hand around Ron’s cheek and says, “Ron.”

Ron hums. Nix’s hips jerk, and then he chuckles.

“Do you want to finish me like this?”

Ron fumbles for one of Nix’s hands and squeezes once for yes, managing a nod as best he can.

Then Nix says, voice darker, “Want to get yourself off like this?”

Ron moans.

He’s never been offended when Nix laughs during sex, really finds it more endearing than he would ever let on to anyone, especially Nix. This time Nix laughs and says, “Go on then, sweetheart.”

Nix didn’t bother to warn Ron anymore, maybe because he knew Ron preferred it that way, maybe because he knew Ron could tell. The sounds Nix made, the way his grip tightened in Ron’s hair. The way his eyes closed and his head tipped back and his hips pushed up further. Ron tries to pull up, to better work his lips, to provide some finesse, but Nix pushes him back down and doesn’t let him go anywhere.

Ron chokes on a moan and comes into his own hand. Nix isn’t far behind him.

Afterward, while Nix savors one last sip of whiskey and Ron rests his head against Nix’s thigh and catches his breath, Ron thinks about what he’d said. He never expected Nix to say it back, still can’t quite fathom why Nix had wanted him to say it in the first place, but he finds suddenly that he needs to know. To know why, if nothing else.

“Nix.”

“Come here.”

Ron resists, takes the time to fix his clothing and then Nix’s, and then allows himself to be drawn up onto the chair. “Well?” Ron asks. “Get what you came for?”

“I think so,” Nix says. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he just draws Ron into a kiss, lazy and lingering.

“Nix,” Ron says again. He pulls away, shoving at Nix until there’s room for both of them in the chair, half side-by-side, their legs spilling over each other, lacking clear boundaries like they always have.

“Fine,” Nix says. “I got what I came for.”

“Did you?” Ron asks mildly, still uncertain what that is. He’s not used to being uncertain around Nix.

“Yes.”

“Care to share?”

“Well, we’ve never talked about it before, why start now?” Nix shrugs.

Ron almost gets it, then. “Isn’t that what you just made me do?”

Nix’s eyes are unreadable. “You need me to say it?”

“No.” It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He might even want it. But he doesn’t need it.

“All right.” Nix curves a hand around Ron’s jaw and pulls him closer. “Got a letter from Yale today.”

Ron settles into the change in topic, resting his temple against the chair back and letting his eyes slip half-closed. “Yeah?”

Nix turns his head to face Ron, hand dropping to his thigh. “Mm. I’m not going.”

“They didn’t reject you,” Ron says.

“No,” Nix says. Eyes on his hand rubbing over Ron’s thigh, he almost smiles. “No, I just made up my mind.”

“So that’s why we’re here,” Ron realizes.

“Enlighten me,” Nix says.

“One last fuck you to the old man before he disinherits you?”

Nix laughs. “Maybe something like that.”

Ron stands. “We should drink more of his whiskey, then.”

Except Nix follows him, crowding him against the table and holding him there. Ron waits. And Nix says, “Come with me. Wherever I do go.”

He hadn’t expected Nix to actually ask. He hooks his fingers in his belt loops, pulls him closer, and says, “Was that ever in question?”

“I guess not.” Nix stares at him for a long moment, and then he says, “I do, too.” It takes a minute for Ron to understand what he’s referring to, all the while Nix watches him, hands on either side of Ron’s face to keep him still. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Ron says. He’d known no such thing. He’d thought so, even hoped in his least proud moments, but he hadn’t known.

Nix smiles. “Liar.”

Ron just raises a hand to Nix’s face, pushing his hair back, trailing his fingertips over his eyebrows, the straight bridge of his nose, lingering at the corner of his lips, coming to rest against his jaw. He drops his hand and his eyes and agrees, “Yeah.”

It’s still probably the most honest conversation they’ve ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Gun Song by The Lumineers.


End file.
